


Dancing Queen

by SuburbanSun



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Magic, Trick or Treat 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: “Do you have any idea what you’re looking at?” Terry frowned, setting down his cup of yogurt. “I don’t know. Boots?” Gina scoffed. “They’re red patent leather 1460 Doc Martens.” She set the boots on the tile floor and stepped into them. “And they’re haunted.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesleepingsatellite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesleepingsatellite/gifts).



> Loved this prompt in your letter! Hope you enjoy it!

“Gina. Delivery.”

Gina held up one manicured finger. Her Snapchat filter wasn’t going to select itself. She vacillated between the adorable dog and the flower crown-- they both made her look unbearably precious-- and finally settled on puppy ears and a cute puppy tongue. You can never go wrong with puppies.

“What now?” she asked, looking up at Gregg, the bored mail guy. He thrust a box in her direction, and had already begun to push his cart away before she’d fully grasped the package.

“Whatcha got there, Gina?” asked Terry, wandering over as he peeled the foil lid off a fresh yogurt.

Alight with anticipation, she scanned her desk for a moment and, in the absence of a letter opener or knife to cut through the tape of the package, reached up and snatched the spoon Terry held poised over the colorful container.

He scowled down at her as she wedged the handle of the spoon underneath the shiny packing tape that held the box shut. “Hey-- what are the rules about getting between Terry and his 3 p.m. snack?”

“Nobody comes between Terry and his Mixed Berry,” she recited. She knew it was an empty threat, and anyway, she had a brand new pair of shoes to admire. She pulled them out of the box, holding them gently aloft.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking at?” she breathed. Terry frowned, setting the cup of yogurt, now useless without a spoon, on the desk before crossing his arms.

“I don’t know. Boots?”

Gina scoffed, stepping out of her flats. “They’re _red patent leather 1460 Doc Martens._ ” She set the boots on the tile floor, carefully slipping her left foot, then her right, into the shoes. “And they’re _haunted_.”

Terry took a big step backward, barely remembering to grab his yogurt before it was out of his reach. “You better not be telling me you brought haunted shoes into the precinct. You remember what happened when Boyle brought that Ouija board to work.”

“That wasn’t a _real_ ghost,” Gina said, wiggling her toes. “Hitchcock got donut glaze all over the board, so the thingy kept getting stuck on ‘Yes.’”

Terry’s eyes widened. “I moved the girls’ college funds into a high-risk investment account based on that board’s advice,” he said in a strained whisper.

“Better hope they can get a good scholarship, then.” Gina stood up, taking a few careful steps. “No-- these are _really_ haunted. Got ‘em on Ebay. The seller said he’d found them in the attic of his cool aunt, the black sheep of the family, after she died.”

Terry eyed the shoes warily. “So how does he know they’re haunted?”

Gina rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, testing out the comfort and give of the supple leather. “Because every time someone would put them on…” She felt a tingle of electricity zip through her, starting in the tips of her toes, and she grinned. “They just… couldn’t… stop… _dancing._ ” As the feeling grew to a boiling point, Gina couldn’t help but begin to move. She was light on her feet, twirling in agile circles, dancing rhythmically in a wide arch around Terry. “Now I never have to stop dancing again!” she cried out, lifting her hands into the air with glee.

“But you’re basically always dancing anyway.” Terry’s frown deepened. “What do you need a pair of haunted boots for?”

Gina cackled, her movements becoming frenzied. She imagined cartoon plumes of smoke rising from her feet as she executed a fevered jazz square. “Are you not witnessing this magic, Ter-Bear? You’ve never seen moves liked this-- nay, the _world_ has never seen moves like this.” She dropped down into a low crouch, spinning around and around on only the toe of one boot, as if the laws of physics no longer applied to her. Maybe they didn’t. “These are the coolest shoes in the entire freakin’ universe!”

Just then, Boyle walked by, peeling a banana with a look of concentration on his face. He glanced down at Gina, raising his eyebrows appreciatively. “Hey, Gina. Wow, cool shoes.”

Gina’s hand flew out and gripped the tile floor like a record scratch, effectively stopping her mid-spin. She sneered, looking from Boyle, to the boots, to Terry, then back to the boots again. She sighed, shrugged, and stood up.

“Well, that’s done.” She quickly unlaced them and toed them off, pinching the tops of the boots between two fingers and holding them far away from her body. “Hey, Terry. See if you can sell these on Ebay. Use the money for the girls’ college funds.” She tossed the shoes to him, and he flinched, but caught them. “I've seen your investment portfolio. You’re definitely gonna need it.”


End file.
